Identity
by Kelforever
Summary: After he left, Murtagh has felt an impending doom and need to protect the person he loves. He is haunted by bad dreams and a mysterious shadow figure who seems to know everything Murtagh fears. Worth the read if you give it a chance :
1. A Touch of Familiarity

CHAPTER 1- A touch of familiarity

As of yet, she had not noticed him. He took a moment to allow his gaze to linger over her small, strong frame. A breeze drifted through, causing the yellow flowers and grass around her to sway as if to a melody only they could hear. The flowers were startlingly bright compared to the girl who sat among them, garbed in her favorite hue of purple. Always, she wore purple. Her dark locks were draped over her shoulder, small pieces caught in the midafternoon breeze. He found himself lingering on her back and quickly turned his attention, as if by habit, towards his feet. His feet were bare but clean. He found himself garbed in a tanned tunic, much different from the shining vivacity of the red he usually donned upon his body. Then something else caught his attention; the grass around him stood undisturbed. He looked to the woman in the grass and noticed the case was the same around her. _If we did not walk, how did we get here? _He wondered. He took a tentative step towards the waiting woman and glanced back over his shoulder to see the matted patch of grass in which he had just been standing. When the grass remained unchanged, he turned his sights ahead again, perturbed by the thoughts that were running through his head. This time when he looked at her, she was turned to face him, still sitting in the grass. Their eyes met. His breath was stolen from him. He could not fathom the beauty that she was. Yet he knew she was real. He knew her. She got to her feet then, mirroring his stance, never once did she break eye contact with him. As he stared at her, his eyes began to water. He realized he was not blinking, as if he was subconsciously afraid that if he did, she would disappear forever. That was not something he wanted to cope with again. The breeze picked up again, pulling strands of hair into her eyes, though she made no move to remedy the situation. Her eyes glimmered, from what he could not tell. Longing? Resentment? Then the tears spilled from her eyes, coating her face and hair with moisture. Before he even realized he had moved, he was inches from her. He hesitated a moment before he delicately pushed the strands from her face and back over the tops of her curved ears. Still unable to break his eye contact, he gently rubbed his thumbs across her strong cheek bones where the majority of her tears had caught. Moisture clung to his skin but he did not care. His heart skipped a beat and he pulled the woman into his arms. A feeling of wholeness settled on his very soul. Only then did he allow himself to mutter the name that hung from his lips and his heart, "Nasuada."

It felt right. A sense of peace overcame him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, taking in all that she was. He wanted nothing more than to be frozen this way forever. With her. The wind shifted direction, bringing with it unbearable heat that forced him to loosen his grip on Nasuada. His head began to throb as a dark cloud overtook the sky. An undeniable sense of foreboding chased away the peace within the valley. As he disentangled himself from Nasuada, the heat subsided but the pulsing in his head became so overwhelming, he was forced to his knees. He looked to Nasuada, every fiber of his being shouting at him to protect her. From what, he knew not. He could not move. She stood there, face still shining as she looked to the sky. Now the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, hard. The hair she had draped over her shoulder blew back behind her all the while her dress billowed violently. The sky was black; so deep was the black that it appeared to be swallowing the world around them. He could see no more than 10 feet to either side of him as the dark cloud engulfed the valley surrounding them. The howling of the wind was so loud, he wanted nothing more than to cover his ears. Still he could not move. He tried to shout her name, calling for her attention, but she did not notice him. Her eyes stayed focused on a point well above him that he could not see in his immobile position. He thought she saw a tremor run through Nasuada's body. He called again only to realize no words were coming out of his mouth. He could do nothing more than kneel there and stare at the scene playing out in front of him. No matter how he longed to go to her, he could not move. When he tried, the throbbing pain in his head got worse, as if something was burrowing deep inside his mind and into his very identity, the fiber of who he was. He closed his eyes and screamed in pain even as the howling of the wind subsided. This time, his voice came through. He opened his eyes again. A dark, massive shadow surrounded them. If he could reach out, he would be able to touch the blackness that made a perfect circle around the two of them. The shadow then began to seep. It seeped into the area that held them and which was previously untouched. The shadow seemed to have a mind of its own. It twined around his arms and torso, finding the crevices in this tunic in which it could hide. It seemed to caress Nasuada's legs as her dress still trailed behind her as if in a frozen, silent wind. Silence… No sound existed in this wicked place. He could not hear the intake and outtake of breath that he knew both he and Nasuada were practicing. Nor could he hear the beating of his own heart… The silence around them was so deep it was frightening.

The shadows that had been playing with them suddenly stopped. It settled; lingering in the air like morning fog. Nasuada finally looked at him; her eyes were startling for he could no longer find her in them. It was as if the shadow had stolen her soul and left nothing but a hallow shell behind. Her lip trembled as she whispered, "Help me, Murtagh… I need you."

Before he could say anything, from the shadows emerged the figure of a man. He was transparent with no details: as if he was the embodiment of the shadow itself. The figure put a hand on Nasuada's shoulder. Her face contorted in a grimace, but otherwise she moved not an inch. "You cannot hide your desires from me, Murtagh," it said in the shadow of a voice. The voice was eerily similar to… he could not remember.

As quickly as the figure appeared, it vanished; taking with it the surrounding darkness. However the foreboding still stayed and valley seemed disturbed as if the plants themselves had been ripped out of the ground. As the figures hand had left Nasuada, she collapsed. This time when he went to move, he was successful. He managed to catch her inches before she hit the hard ground. Her eyes were closed and her faced covered in hair. Quickly, he pushed her hair from her face and gently shook her. He called her name softly and she began to stir.

As she opened her eyes, Murtagh cried out in horror. As startled as he was, however, he did not allow his grip on her to diminish. Gaping black holes were in place of her eyes. Even as he watched the skin of her eyelids disintegrated to ash that then fell into the voids that were her eye sockets. His mouth gaped in silent horror as he watched the rest of her body do the same. It was as if she were aging faster than he ever thought possible and withering into herself. Before a minute had passed, the whole of her body was dark grey and shriveled. The breeze picked up then. At first he paid it no mind: he was still captivated by the change he had just witnessed. Then her body broke. The breeze carried away the dust that was her body, leaving nothing of her behind but a skeleton garbed in the violet dress.

Murtagh was dumbfounded and was at a loss as to what he should do. He looked at the gaping eye sockets and thought of the life he would never see again. Then he did the only thing he could possibly do: he screamed. He screamed at the top of his lungs for all to hear the anguish he felt. He wanted nothing more than to pursue the shadow figure into the void that he came from and kill it. But he could not leave her here; even if she was gone to the world. He would not leave. So he screamed despite the growing rawness of his throat.

Then he felt a pressure on his mind. He did not care to whom the presence belonged; he let down his guard. In his despair, his own life no longer mattered. He would willingly let the shadows take him. The mind pushed against his again and said, "Wake up, Murtagh."

He awoke, but as he did, he heard the voice of the shadow man echoing in his head, "You cannot hide your desires from me…"


	2. A Hint of Resentment

CHAPTER 2- A hint of resentment

Murtagh started, his eyes open wide. His vision was out of focus, yet every other sense was on fire. He heard blood rushing in his ears, dull compared to the sound of his thudding heart. The taste of blood filled his mouth, bitter and salty. In contrast to all this, he could smell the brittle pine of the forest he had camped in. And with sudden realization, he could feel a burning hot, stinging sensation covering his right arm and torso. He yelped, jumping to his feet. Only then did his vision clear, bringing with it the soft glow of the full moon through the gaps in the canopy above. Murtagh was covered head to toe in sticking sweat and, he noticed with horror, blood dripping from his arm, over his shoulder, and onto his chest. It wasn't his blood; the only blood that burned like this he knew was dragons' blood. He looked down at his clenched fists to see his black hunting dagger wielded in his right hand. His world around him came crashing down as he frantically searched around the clearing for Thorn.

It was only then, as the rest of his senses tuned to the forest around him, that he realized that the mind who touched his and awoke him was Thorn's. It was he too who was roaring at him through their mental connect, a sound he mistook for the rushing of blood.

Murtagh loosened his clenched fist, allowing the hunting dagger to slip through and fall to the earth beside him. His breathing was labored as he cried out with his mind, "_Thorn! Where are you?"_

Instead of answering, the blood red dragon limped into the clearing from the spot the right side of the clearing where the trees originally blocked Murtagh's view. Then it donned on Murtagh the enormity of the damage he had caused his partner. The next minute Thorn allowed all of the pain, anger, and fear he felt to flow across their mental connection. Then all was silent, for Thorn was so angry, he severed their mental connection, crouched low, and growled at Murtagh. Grief stricken, Murtagh sunk to his knees. This time he spoke, he pleaded, aloud, "I am so sorry, Thorn. Please, let me heal you."

The dragon growled at him a second time but made no effort to move, his glimmering red eyes fixed on Murtagh. Cautiously, Murtagh rose to his feet and took a few steps towards Thorn. The dragon allowed him to do so, however, he never once took the sparkling red ruby that was his eye off of Murtagh. As he neared, Thorn fluttered and lifted his wings so that Murtagh could get a closer and examine the full extent of the wound he had inflicted upon the dragon.

Murtagh summoned a werelight to hang in the air beside him as he looked at the depth of the gash. From the tip of his right wing to about midway in, the membrane of his wing had been slashed open. That was an easy fix. Murtagh placed his hand upon the membrane gently and mutter a few words under his breath and watched as it stitched itself together from the inside working its way out. Then he looked to the other, worse part of the wound. As he was dreaming, it seemed he had drawn his blade and swung his arm around. At the end of the wounded membrane, the blade dislodged, skipped the rest of the wing that he could not reach, and continued on to Thorn's right foreleg. The gash was deep yet, to Murtagh's relief, thin and appeared to miss the tendons. Murtagh knelt next to Thorn's leg and muttered the phrases in the ancient language required to mend the muscles and skin.

After a few minutes of concentration, the wound reattached itself, the muscles rippling as they reconnected. Murtagh ended the spell, feeling a large drain on his energy, which he realized he did not regain while sleep due to the fitful dream.

Murtagh backed up a few paces before he sat by the edge of the fire he had built earlier in the day, which had long since extinguished, from the wind most likely. The werelight faded and slowly disappeared from its place beside Thorn's leg. Murtagh stripped off his ruined tunic, large holes covering it from the heat of the dragon blood. He wiped the blood from his now bare and singed shoulder. The best thing to do, in his opinion, was to busy himself until Thorn's anger subsided enough for him to reconnect their mental bond.

After a few minutes, Thorn stretched out of his crouch, the tension leaving his muscles as he regained his normal composure. He lay down then beside Murtagh, placing his snout on the man's lap. "_If this continues, you will no longer be allowed to sleep under my wing."_

Murtagh smiled half-heartedly, troubled. "_I am sorry I hurt you again, Thorn. It was by no will of my own,"_ He said as he rubbed the hard scales on Thorn's snout. Thorn, in turn, rumbled in his chest with contempt.

Murtagh mused, "_I saw her again. And him."_

_"How did he kill her this time?" _Thorn inquired.

"_It is hard to explain. Shall I show you?"_Murtagh asked, knowing Thorn would be reluctant for the dragon had had his fill of disturbing things in his short life. However, Thorn consented to see the memory. Through their bond Murtagh could feel the hesitation but also the desire Thorn felt in the need to comfort his rider. Murtagh showed him the dream from the beginning to end.

When the dream had finished, Thorn simply stated, "_She spoke this time."_

Murtagh was equally frightened about it, never before in the reoccurring dream had Nasuada spoken. But that was not the most disturbing part about it, "_She said my name this time."_ Every other time he had had the dream, it seemed as if she hadn't a clue who he was. There was silence between them for a while as they both pondered the meaning of his dream.

"_They will not stop till you go see her and confirm that she is not in danger," _Thorn said, treading lightly on the subject, but Murtagh sensed that he had been thinking it for weeks. The fact that she spoke to him this time gave Thorn the confirmation he needed to solidify the idea.

Murtagh stopped rubbing Thorn's scales then, instead taking his hands to his eyes as if to rub the weariness from them. Aloud he stated, "She does not want to see me." The finality in his voice made his statement feel all the more truthful.

_"Perhaps not, but you cannot protect her from her feelings. You must do what needs to be done and suffer the consequences of your actions."_

_ "When did you become so wise?" _Murtagh asked playfully.

Thorn snorted, a puff of warm smoke erupting from his nostrils causing Murtagh to cough as the smoke encircled his face. "_When I was allowed to start thinking for myself."_

Sympathetic, Murtagh said no more. The chill in the air made him shiver as his bare skin was still exposed to the elements. He realized how weary he had become as he sat there enjoying the company of Thorn.

Sensing his discomfort through their mental bond, Thorn raised his head from its spot on Murtagh's lap and emitted a small flame from between his jaws that lit the fire wood in the center of their camp. Then Thorn got to his feet and moved to the edge of the camp to the spot that he chose to sleep in earlier. He laid on his side and curled in his appendages.

Murtagh sat there looking at the dragon and admiring his beauty in the glow of the firelight, keeping his distance so Thorn could sleep in peace. After laying there for a minute, Thorn opened his large eye, puffed a tendril of smoke from his nostrils, then raised his wing in invitation.

Murtagh hesitated a moment, then, with a smile, he walked over to the dragon and nestled up against Thorn's warm under belly. As Thorn's wing descended to enclose him in the warmth of the cocoon, Murtagh spied his hunting dagger on the ground. He turned to his other side, deciding he would rather not have the protection after the damage he had done to Thorn with it earlier. It did not matter anyway, for he knew tonight, he would not sleep.


	3. A Loss of Importance

CHAPTER 3- A Loss of Importance

Nasuada sighed, flipping onto her side seeking comfort in a different position. The bed she laid in was comfortable enough, but recently sleep had been evading her. The worries of the day were rushing through her head: did she make the right choices, should he have said or done something differently, were small issues on the verge of becoming large ones? She never allowed it to show on her face or in her body language, but being the queen was really starting to take its toll on her.

Leading the Varden was easy enough; in fact she had enjoyed and reveled in it. It gave her a sense of accomplishment and paved the way for her rule over Alagaёsia. But the problems of the Varden were dwarfed in comparison to the problems she faced with the whole kingdom. There were issues that Eragon had settled before he left, for which she was indeed grateful, but his leaving also caused many unforeseen problems. Though she understood his reasons for departure, she still cursed him for leaving so much on her shoulders. And even though she knew better, she could not help but feel Eragon intentionally left her with all his unwanted burdens. But what troubled her most was that she missed having a friend. Nasuada was utterly alone in this kingdom and had no one to talk to. No one she really trusted. All of the people she grew to care about had abandoned her in the most trying part of her rule. Eragon, Arya, Saphira, and…

She lost her train of thought as she was overcome by grief of which she could not put a name on. Loss, perhaps, was the easiest answer to her sadness. _"Murtagh._" The name made her whole body quake. Unable to stay in one place any longer, with tears rolling down her cheeks unnoticed, she ripped her thin blanket off of her night gowned body. She sat on the edge of her bed and cradled her head in her hands. Of all the people who left her, none left a bigger whole in her being than Murtagh. A void in her soul was a constant reminder of what she lost. She loved him and yet she hated him. She cursed his name but could never wish bad things on him. Nasuada was conflicted with her feelings for him. She wished she could see him but at the same time hoped she never had to see him again. It would be best for both of them. If he had cared for her so much, how could he leave her the way he did. She went round and round in her mind, never able to find the answers.

Her bare feet were cold on the stone floor of her bed chamber. She walked to the wardrobe the elves had sung her out of the twined branches of a pine tree. Opening the large wooden doors, she pulled out a night robe and yanked it over her sheer night gown, tying the front so it would not open.

The elf-made wardrobe was a gift by the elf queen herself, Arya, at the beginning of Nasuada's rule. The wardrobe did not have a back and that was for a specific reason. Arya had it set up against the wall to the left of her chamber door, then she sang to it again. This time when she sang, she entwined enchantments that Nasuada specifically requested: enchantments that only she could trigger.

Nasuada stepped up into the wardrobe, pulling the doors shut behind her. She lowered herself into a sitting position and faced the stone in wall in which the wardrobe was set up against. She stretched her legs forward. When it seemed like her feet could go no further, they disappeared inside of the wall. Nasuada smiled at the enchantment, glad to have one thing that only she knew of.

A moment later her legs were gone completely and she could feel the cold stone of the floor on the other side of the wall. Nasuada closed her eyes then, always hating the feeling of vertigo that came with her going through the wall that was not there but appeared to be. She stood up and opened her eyes. The corridor in front of her was bare. She turned around to look at the wall from which she had just went through and saw nothing there but stone. Not a trace of the magic tampering was there. Then she turned, headed to the right side of the hall. Peering around the corner, but still out of site, she saw her Nighthawkes guarding the door outside of her chamber. They made no noise, yet they were completely unaware of Nasuada's presence outside of her chamber.

She smiled as she turned around, headed back up the hallway she had come from. She walked to the opposite end of the corridor, as was her nightly routine. She then took a left, milky moonlight spilling in from the outside windows on her right. A cool breeze made her robe billow around her ankles. She shrugged her shoulders, the fabric of her robe falling in closer to her neck, and crossed her arms over her chest for warmth.

After a few minutes of walking in the corridor, she saw the door that led to where she was going. To her relief, throughout her walk she had seen no one else in the dark hours of the night. Nasuada pulled on the heavy door and slipped inside when the crack allowed enough room for her body. The door closed behind her and the shadows enveloped her, leaving her in pure darkness. She put both hands out to either side of her, waiting for the contact that told her she was in the middle of the close walls. She touched the walls at the same time. Moving her bare feet forward, Nasuada searched for the first step of the stairs on the landing as her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness around her. Having found the steps, she started up the spiral staircase that she knew would take her to her destination. Soon, a bit of moonlight lit the stairs, signaling to Nasuada that she was almost to the top of the stairwell.

Finally she put her feet on the top step of the stairs. There in front of her was the top of a dragons' tower. It was a huge room big enough to fit Saphira five times over. One wall was completely missing from the room, making it appear like a huge window. The full moon cast its light inside through the opening as it did every night. The tower was a perfect place for Nasuada to think and overlook the whole of her kingdom as she could see for hundreds of leagues on end from the tower.

Nasuada walked over to the gap and sat at the edge, dangling her feet over the side. She knew it was dangerous to do so, but she always got a thrill of excitement from it. In some cases, she believed she missed the days of the Varden, always fighting for the next step. But that was a world in which you were cautious at every turn.

The wind was cold on her legs, but she paid that no attention. Her mind was a racetrack, yet only one thing was on it.

_"Murtagh,"_she thought as her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes searched both the skies and the ground, looking for any sign that he might be out there. Sometimes she even looked to the heavens for some hint, just for her, as to where in the world he might be. It was a ritual.

She bit her lip, a moment passed, worry welling up inside of her. "Murtagh," she said aloud, the name seemed somewhat alien on her lips. Nasuada frowned, saying his name a second time. It was then, horror crawling over her like a spider of doom, that she realized she could no longer remember what he looked like.


	4. A Thief of Memories

CHAPTER 4- A Thief of Memories

Dawn had broken over the horizon before Nasuada awoke. Sitting up, she realized she was still in the dragon tower overlooking the kingdom. It took her a moment to gauge the time as the tower was facing the northwest. She stretched her sore limbs and yawned. Despite the tension in her muscles, she had a surprisingly restful sleep. This was good because she had fallen asleep on the edge of the tower. She shivered to think if her dreams had been fitful, she could have easily fallen to her death.

The beautiful autumn morning captured her attention as she thought about her subjects. At any given point of fixation, she was witnessing multiple people rousing from their sleep, though she could not see them specifically and they would never know she had watched. In essence, she really was watching over her people. With respect, she compared the idea to the gods above, knowing for the first time the true depth and beauty of the unknown and unseen looking down upon her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a set of soft footsteps behind her. Nasuada tensed, preparing attacks she could use to defend herself against the seemingly never ending assassins hell bent on killing her. Then a familiar voice chimed out in the silence, sending a shiver down Nasuada's spine.

"Do not ponder your attacks too much, Your Majesty. You know as well as I it would do you no good had I the intention to harm you," Elva stated as she padded over to stand next to where Nasuada now sat with her legs draped over the edge of the wall.

"Elva, why are you up here?" Nasuada asked not of curiosity but rather from annoyance. The girl had a habit of turning up when Nasuada was least in the mood.

"Do not be so quick as to pass me off as an annoyance, Lady," Elva let the words hang in the air a moment. Nasuada cursed herself for not better guarding her emotions around the girl, though there was no sure way to tell if Elva knew her thoughts or not. Elva continued when Nasuada made no effort to speak in her own defense, "I cannot get you out of my head. All day, everyday something is grieving you, constantly reminding me you are in pain."

The girl sat on the floor next to Nasuada, her feet dangling off the edge. Elva looked down, a coy smile on her face. "What a strange way to die, falling to death. Did you know it would be perfectly painless?" Elva shifted her glimmering purple eyes to look at Nasuada. Unnerved, Nasuada turned her gaze westward in an attempt not to show her discomfort.

A tone of self-satisfaction colored Elva's voice as she spoke again, "What is it that ails your soul, Lady? Speak freely and perhaps I can give you the words of comfort that you seek."

Nasuada had every intention to deny the girl the information she was seeking, but as she turned to tell her face to face, something in the girl's eyes made her hesitate. Elva seemed genuine in her request to help; though it really said nothing for the girl's character when she was likely doing it for her own needs.

Still, Nasuada felt a trust in the girl she had not felt in a long time for another being. She took a deep breath, gazing out at the vast kingdom once again before she answered, "Is…" Nasuada's voice caught as his name stuck in her throat. It was strange, she knew his name, yet she could not think of it. She look to Elva, but the girl was returning her look of confusion.

Nasuada cleared her throat, starting again, "Is… How is… the red dragon Rider?" Throughout the course of her sentence, she had given up on his name, deciding the sleep still clouded her mind.

Elva was still giving her a strange look, as if she were trying to search Nasuada's whole being just through one look. Nasuada shifted uncomfortably under the girl's unwavering gaze. After a minute, Elva blinked, shaking off the strange reverie she was in.

Elva looked out at the horizon then, contemplating what to say. After a moment, she said, emphasizing his name, "Murtagh is safe, but troubled much like you."

Relief swept over her. Both girls hunched forward as if weight had literally been lifted from their shoulders. "Thank you," Nasuada said breathlessly as she finally straightened back up.

"The kingdom is waking up, it will not be long until they notice you are not in your chamber, Lady," Elva responded absently, her mind apparently elsewhere.

Nasuada acknowledged Elva's comment, getting to her feet. As she headed towards the landing at the top of the stairwell, she turned to Elva intending to have her accompany the queen.

Elva, still staring out at the horizon, cut her off, though her voice was soft, "Nasuada… someone is stealing your memories."


End file.
